


Interhigh Day 1: A Schedule

by agletbaby



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Datekougyou | Date Tech, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-24 03:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30066018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agletbaby/pseuds/agletbaby
Summary: Datekou take nationals
Comments: 22
Kudos: 17
Collections: Datekou Week 2021





	1. 05:30

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Datekou Week! Check out the collection/twitter for more awesome stuff!!  
> I'm planning to post a chapter or probably two every day of the week, although I have not... yet... finished..... writing...... but I will. I have to. For them.  
> In the meantime, let's go, let's go! Small warning for a minor injury description in this chapter.

Aone is already awake, dressed, and sat cross legged on his futon, halfway through clipping his nails carefully into a tissue, when Nametsu appears with the official wake up call.

"Oh," she starts. She's silhouetted in the doorway of their rented hostel room, so Aone can't make out her expression, but he supposes she’s surprised to see most of the team already up, at various stages of readiness — even Koganegawa, who's usually the last one to wake up during training camps, has been dragged out of bed by his own nervous energy. He's only as far as Sakunami's though, where he's plopped back down, oblivious to Sakunami's attempts to pack up for the day around him.

Still, she recovers — for once, them being awake makes her list of to-dos smaller — and rattles off the day's itinerary. Aone listens diligently, even though it hasn't changed from last night. To his left, Onagawa (who's also awake, but is pretending not to be) mutters and waves his hand dismissively, as though today is any old day, and Nametsu is disturbing him whilst he's napping in class. Aone can't really blame him for acting like that: he always cuts his nails before matches too, working his way from thumb to pinkie, left hand to right. There's comfort in normalcy.

Natsu finishes by cheerily telling them to get ready for breakfast, although she says it with a slight tightness that implies she's not just talking about the meal, but everything that's going to follow it too. From the way Onagawa calls across the room, "Are there eggs?", he doesn't seem to notice.

Nametsu ignores him, and waves to Aone instead. "Can you give me a hand?" 

Aone doesn't reply, doesn't even nod. He just picks up his tissue, carefully gathered so everything stays inside, puts his nail clippers in his pocket, and follows her into the corridor outside. Behind him, the room completely shakes off any remaining pretence of sleepiness and bursts into noise in his wake.

"Where's Futakuchi?" she asks. Then she adds, "I need to talk to him," although Aone isn't sure what else she'd need him for. Talking is Futakuchi's specialty. His fondness for it sits perfectly alongside Aone's silence, just like their two futons back in the room. Right now, both are empty.

"Bathroom." Aone suggests. It hasn't been that long since Futakuchi slid quietly out of the space on the floor next to Aone. Not enough time to be suspicious, anyway. Futakuchi likes to get into trouble, but he's not that efficient at it. Especially now he's out of practice, thanks to his grudging acceptance of captainly responsibility.

"Okay," Nametsu says, although the way she says it doesn't really sound like it is okay, actually. "Can you go get him? We have to be out of here in—" she checks her watch, then starts. Aone watches as both her eyebrows disappear into her fringe, not yet neatened for the day. "Ah! I was supposed to be checking the kit bags three minutes ago already!" She hovers for a moment, moving slightly from foot to foot, as though there's a task in every direction, and she doesn't know which one to do first. Which might be true.

"I'll find him," Aone tells her.

She smiles and settles. "Thank you," she says earnestly. "When you do, send him to— maybe the dining room? Or Coach's room? No, let's say the dining room. You both need to eat. To keep your strength up!"

Aone nods. "You should too," he says, suddenly concerned that in managing the whole team alone, Nametsu will forget to manage herself. It’s not particularly reassuring when she laughs at that, but still: she calls "I will!" as she disappears down the corridor in the opposite direction to the dining room. And, Aone realises belatedly, the luggage room where their kit bags are being stored.

Still, she knows what she's doing, Aone’s sure. Tissue carefully in hand, he makes his way to the nearest bathroom. He hopes he'll have time to finish clipping his nails before breakfast, but if he doesn't, he’ll have time later. He’s found he can generally find space for the little things in the nooks of his day, if he looks for them.

Futakuchi isn’t in the bathroom just down the hall, although Obara is, looking queasily into the mirror. He gives Aone a smile, but it’s as trembly as a small dog on a cold day. After throwing away his tissue, Aone decides it’s best to leave him to it.

Back in the corridor, Aone considers his position. It is possible that Futakuchi’s outside, or skulking hungrily around the dining room or vending machines, but Aone’s locked onto the bathroom plan now, so he proceeds to the next one. It’s a single one, which Futakuchi had unsuccessfully tried to claim as the captain’s bathroom when they arrived last night. The door is locked now, so Aone’s found someone at the very least. He hopes it's someone he knows.

He knocks twice, and Futakuchi’s voice asks, “Password?”

Aone doesn’t say anything.

After a second, he hears the lock click open. “Fine, Aone, you can come in,” Futakuchi says. “But only ‘cos it’s you.”

Aone pushes the door open, and shuffles in. The room is relatively large, but it doesn’t really feel it with both of them in there, especially when Futakuchi gestures for him to come in properly, and close the door after him. Aone does so, and positions himself awkwardly in the corner across from the sink, which Futakuchi is sat gloomily on the edge of. He has his feet up on the closed toilet lid opposite, which is close enough that his legs are bent up towards him, giving him easy picking access to the dark scab on his knee.

He got it after diving without kneepads in a practice a few weeks ago now. The scrape was only surface level, and it really should have healed by now, but instead Futakuchi kept coming to practice with fresh bandaids in place, quickly hidden by his kneepads. This explains why it didn’t get better, at least. Watching Futakuchi here, scratching idly at his knee, and the forming dew drops of blood, Aone feels even more out of place than he usually does around everyone who isn't Futakuchi. It’s like he’s intruded on something private, like Futakuchi is telling him about some reluctant and deep seated fear that neither of them really want shared. Aone's first reaction is concern. His second is a slow sort of amusement: it’s typical of Futakuchi to keep picking at something, even when it’s clearly a bad idea. He stays quiet and waits.

Futakuchi breaks the silence with a very loud  _ pffft _ , which is unexpected enough that Aone blinks in surprise, and seems to break Futakuchi out of the weird, sober state he was in. As he digs a bandaid out of his pocket, he begins cheerily chats away. “Have you come to give me an inspiring speech that’s gonna rally me as I lead the troops to victory?” he asks, seriously enough that it’s clear he’s joking.

“Nametsu wants to talk to you,” Aone tells him.

“Nah, she doesn’t actually want me bothering her. She just wants to check I haven’t run away.”

Aone doesn’t think that’s true, but he also knows Futakuchi will go with him to find her anyway, so he doesn’t bother arguing. Instead, he asks, “Are you going to run away?”

“Not if you hurry up with that speech,” Futakuchi replies, obnoxiously plaintive. He balls the bandaid wrapper up and throws it at Aone’s chest. It bounces off, but Aone catches it before it falls too far, and puts it in his pocket to recycle later. “You didn’t say no to giving it, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Aone doesn’t reply, and after a moment, Futakuchi slumps back. The sink is a small, delicate-looking one — Aone would struggle to fit his hands under the taps — and he’s slightly worried Futakuchi might break it if he keeps putting his weight on it.

“No,” Futakuchi says. “I’m not going anywhere. Well, you know, not except the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium." He says the full name like it's an insult. "If I could just leave I’d probably feel way less shit. I hate all this serious responsibility stuff, you know. I’m a free spirit. I can’t be constrained by trivial things like society or rules.”

Aone is doubtful about that. Futakuchi likes little moments of freedom, like wearing his school uniform wrong, or chewing gum in class, but he also appreciates it when everyone turns up to practice on time, and when their disciplined, precise blocks work and get them points. As per the rules.

“Yeah, okay, I’m kidding around,” Futakuchi responds. “You don’t have to give me that look. I’ll be fine. I just needed a moment.” He slips off the sink, squares up with Aone. “It’s very stressful being captain,” he finishes, and this time, his tone is so ironic that he must be serious. “Especially with a team like you lot.”

“We wouldn’t have made it here without this team,” Aone says. “And we wouldn’t be here if we weren’t good enough to be. So we’ll be fine. You too.”

Futakuchi, in the process of kicking the door open, pauses and looks at Aone. “I knew you were here to drop a speech on me, Aone. That was wonderful. Shakespearean.” He taps the space below his eye with an index finger before he leads the way out, a mockery of a teardrop, to show just how emotional he isn’t. It’s as good as a thumbs up, in terms of affirming that Futakuchi’s okay, so Aone appreciates it.

Over his shoulder, Futakuchi looks back at him. “The Nametsu thing was just a ploy, right? So that I wouldn’t expect the speech.”

Aone shakes his head, even though he knows Futakuchi’s still joking. “You should find her.” Then he considers that they both seem a bit fragile this morning. It’s understandable, but it’s also probably best to give them a break from each other for as long as possible. “But breakfast first,” he says, and together, they head towards the dining room, Futakuchi whistling tunelessly. As they walk, Aone feels satisfied that, even if he still has a hand of untrimmed nails, he’s completed another important job.


	2. 08:00

Oiwake watches from the stands as Futakuchi leads the rest of the Datekougyou Boy's Volleyball Club through the stadium for the Interhigh opening ceremony. Everyone is accounted for (he counted them quickly as they entered, just in case), and progressing in a mostly orderly single file. It's wonderful. They don’t stand out from the other fifty-five teams assembled. Not at all. In fact, it’s the team from Oita that everyone hushes up and stares at, when one of their kids does a random and unnecessary jump kick.

It really is great, to not be coaching the weirdest lot in the room for a change. Oiwake really wants his team to shine, but only in very specific, in-game contexts.

Last night, as he was trying and failing to sleep, Oiwake had barely even spared a thought for the match they have later today. Instead, he’d been plagued by visions of this very ceremony, of one of the team tripping, and falling into the guy in front of them, and then the next guy, and the next, into other teams too, until all the best players in the country are going down like dominos. Oiwake doesn’t know if it would technically be counted as his fault, but if one of his team was responsible for squashing all of Japan’s future Olympics prospects, then he’d probably be yelled at, at the very least.

But no; none of his nightmares have come true. No one has fainted, or waved over-enthusiastically at the crowd, or made a snarky comment about someone who’s definitely within earshot and will want to retaliate. None of the first years have even collapsed into nervous giggles, which they seem to be prone to doing. From all the way up here, you can’t even hear Koganegawa counting to keep in time, like he’d been practicing earlier in the morning, marching on the spot in the hostel foyer whilst Sakunami and Nametsu tried to shush him.

“Gosh,” Nametsu says, who’s stood next to him in the stands. “They look almost professional.” She doesn't take her eyes off the team, looking pleased and proud. Oiwake knows she’s had a stressful morning, but she seems better now. Although maybe that's only because, at this precise moment, the entire team is visible and behaving and not their problem.

“It’s the distance,” he replies gruffly. “We just can’t see them screwing around from all the way up here.”

He’s clapping as enthusiastically as anyone though, and Nametsu gives him a look, so he knows she knows he doesn't mean it. Fine. He only hopes that, once the teams have left the court and the danger's passed and they hurry off to reclaim their lot, the chaos of the stadium’s crowds means she doesn’t notice that he’s gotten misty-eyed.


	3. 08:54

Fukiage enjoys hanging out with the other second years a lot, actually. He may not be the most enthusiastic participant, but he appreciates spending time with them. He likes that they’re nice, and that there’s always an interesting discussion happening, even if it’s just Koganegawa sharing every thought that appears in his head. Even if it’s normally just Koganegawa doing that.

But today, he really wishes he hadn’t joined them the stands. Because, well, he’s nervous about their game later, and Sakunami is so stalwart and Koganegawa is so oblivious that they’re both carrying on like normal. Which is good, of course. He wouldn’t criticise them for that, even if he was the type to speak up. Or speak, full stop. He just wishes he’d sat somewhere else, where he could worry silently _and_ in silence.

And there’s also the fact that if he had sat somewhere else, he wouldn’t be in this strange big city convenience store, which most definitely is not the stadium, populated as it is by business people and more drink choices than he’s ever seen in his life. But he is. And that fact isn’t really quieting any of his nerves at all. In fact, it’s making them all jangle like plucked guitar strings.

What happened was this:

Koganegawa had been riffling through his bag, trying to show them his new sports tape — which is noteworthy because it’s green, like their kit, at least according to him — when he’d stopped, suddenly.

“I don’t have any lunch.”

A pause. Sakunami had begun forming the edges of an ‘Um,’ but Nametsu had cut in first. Fukiage wonders sometimes if she can sense trouble like a superhero, because she always seems to be there when it happens. Or maybe it’s just that trouble follows the team, and so does she.

“You do have lunch,” Nametsu had said. “I gave you a bento.”

It was going to become a  _ thing _ , Fukiage could tell, even as a bystander. And things, with the team, had a tendency to snowball. On cue, Futakuchi had begun rolling towards them, Aone at his shoulder.

“I remember! But I think I left it in the room,” Koganegawa pressed on, getting louder. “At least I’ll have a snack for later—” He stopped himself there, or maybe Nametsu had stopped him, silently, with nothing but a glare. (Fukiage likes her too, for the record.)

Either way, Koganegawa had gone into full apology mode. “I’m sorryyyyyy! I’ll do anything to make it up to you! I could do one hundred pressups! Is that enough of a punishment? How about burpees! I can do a hundred burpees!”

He’d only stopped when Aone put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t exhaust yourself.”

“Eh,” Futakuchi says. “Or do.” A beat; the glare moved to him. “After the match, obviously! I’m just saying, maybe we’d all sleep better if—”

Sakunami cuts in. “It’s important to keep your stamina up, Koganegawa-kun.”

“I know that,” Koganegawa had replied mournfully. “But what should I do?”

The solution, quickly proposed, was to buy a new lunch. The new problem was how to get Koganegawa there and back, without him disappearing, never to be found again, even though his hair is the scalp-equivalent of a fluorescent vest. This was mostly a problem Koganegawa seemed to anticipate, but once he’d mentioned his fear of getting lost, there was general agreement that letting Koganegawa roam free was probably a bad idea.

The new solution: Sakunami and Fukiage can be chaperones.

“If we lose one of you, we might as well lose all of you,” Futakuchi had said, off-handedly.

Fukiage is glad Sakunami is there too: he’s good at steering Koganegawa away from the less game-day appropriate food items. Fukiage has left them in front of the freezer section, and wandered an aisle over, to try and find some calm between the rice crackers and the instant noodles.

He can still hear Koganegawa, of course, and Sakunami too, calmly directing him away from the puddings. From this distance, mixed in with the nondescript hubbub of the shop, their voices are soothingly familiar, like rain on a window, or a CD of whale noises. 

“Did you actually forget your lunch,” Sakunami is asking, “or did you just want to buy snacks?”

It’s kind of nice. Fukiage takes some deep breaths, and instead of listening to Koganegawa’s reply, examines the ingredients list of a packet of spicy chips. Maybe getting out of the stadium was a good thing: something about all this packaging is making him feel more grounded.

This means it takes a second for him to realise something’s going on.

It’s the quizzical edge to Koganegawa’s voice that catches Fukiage’s attention before the words actually register. “—Know you?” is the first thing he hears.

“Are you Datekougyou,” someone says. It doesn’t sound like a question. “Are you the team who beat Karasuno,” the voice continues, ande that definitely wasn’t. It sounds intense. Which makes him uninclined to walk an aisle over and see what’s going on. He walks over anyway.

He hears Koganegawa say “Yep!” just before he turns the corner, and catches him jovially punching Sakunami in the shoulder for good measure. 

Sakunami doesn’t even tell Koganegawa off, like he normally does when Kogane gets a bit too intense. He’s looking pale and a bit wide-eyed at the guy in front of them, who has his back to Fukiage.

Given the nerve necessary to square off against strangers in a freezer aisle, Fukiage had been imagining, well, a classic scary volleyball player. Like Aone-san, who's the only other person Fukiage can think of who lays down challenges, although his are silent. Or someone like Kakugawa High’s two meter guy, the one they’d beaten at qualifiers. He hadn't challenged anyone, but he was just inherently daunting. This guy is not like that, which is to say, he’s not two meters tall. He’s kind of short, actually, although he’s still a bit intimidating, even from behind.

“Huh!” he says, folding his arms. It’s an intense stance: somehow, it’s a provocation, a declaration, and an assumption of victory, all at once. Fukiage is glad he isn’t standing with the other two. The guy is so purposeful that he's more threatening than Hyakuzawa ever was. Then, he drops the pose, and when he speaks again, he mostly sounds annoyed. “I want to win against Hinata Shouyou,” he tells them, emphatically. “So you need to play some good matches to make up for him not being here this tournament!”

“Of course!” Koganegawa replies, just as loud. “And we will at the next tournament, too!”

At the same time, Sakunami earnestly says, “We’ll do our best, Hoshiumi-san! Please look out for us.”

The guy — Hoshiumi — looks between the two of them “Alright!” he nods, before carrying on to the end of the aisle. There, he joins a guy wearing the same colour shorts, who, Fukiage realises, actually does look two meters tall. Nationals really is scary.

“Did you know him?” Koganegawa is asking, as Fukiage reaches them.

Sakunami looks disbelieving. “We watched their game from last year, Koganegawa-kun. He’s Kamomedai’s ace. They’re the team who beat Karasuno.”

“Oh! The ones with the good blocking?”

“Yeah, that’s them. Are you really going to go for the cheese pudding?”

Fukiage can’t believe that’s the end of the conversation, so he does the unusual, and doesn’t let it be. “Did you accidentally just make an enemy?”

“In sports, they’re called rivals,” Koganegawa tells him, with all the smugness of someone who’s been corrected on this exact point. Multiple times. Recently.

“I think it’s more that we just inherited Karasuno’s rivalry,” Sakunami says thoughtfully, “so I don’t know if it counts. Hm.”

“Right.” And Fukiage really would leave it there normally. He’s not a competitive person by nature, anymore than he’s a talkative one: he likes playing volleyball, and being on a team. Victory's just a side effect of that. But still. Today’s special. Only a little stiffly, he says, “Well, let’s win anyway.”

They both grin at him, and Koganegawa nods enthusiastically. As he gathers an armful of food, he turns to Fukiage, and says, “You’re so cool and calm, Jingo-san! I’m so nervous, I wish I was as ready as you are.”

Fukiage considers this, and decides that if Koganegawa sees him that way, then maybe it can be true.


	4. 09:53

“We’re going to be late!”

“It’s fine, they’re the second game. They don’t start ‘til eleven.”

“The second game starts at ten,” Moniwa almost wails. Sasaya is glad they just missed the last train, so the metro platform is mostly empty and there’s no one to stare at them. He wouldn’t mind that, but Kamasaki would probably swear at anyone he saw looking, and that might get them kicked out of the station, and then they'd never make it.

At the same time, he’s impressed that Moniwa has enough breath to make that much noise: Sasaya’s lungs are still recovering from unsuccessfully running for the train. He's not as fit as he used to be. Maybe he should join a neighbourhood team. Beside him, Moniwa is still going: “And Nametsu said it looked like the game before looked like it would finish quickly!”

“Why’s it matter?” Kamasaki replies, nonchalantly, like he wasn’t aggressively leading the charge through the metro station two minutes before, telling them to hurry up. “We’re always late.”

“Exactly! It’d be nice to be early for once!” Moniwa’s frantic tone suddenly softens. “Today is a special occasion.”

“Moniwa, have you considered,” Sasaya interjects with the first thing that he can think of, because he senses either increasing despondency or a proud ‘they’ve come so far’ speech, either of which could end in tears. “That us always being late is why they keep winning. Maybe if we got there on time, they’d lose. Like a curse.”

Kamasaki karate chops him in the shoulder — “Don’t talk about losing!” — but Moniwa looks thoughtful. And worried again. Whoops.

“Do you think we put them off?” he asks. “Like maybe we distract them, or put too much pressure on them. Maybe we are cursed.”

“They don’t need us to put them off,” Kamasaki says, “when Futakuchi’s right there on court with them.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re not cursed,” clarifies Sasaya. “They’re doing pretty well, I’d say. Even with Futakuchi,” he adds, because there’s probably some truth in what Kamasaki just said.

“Futakuchi is very focused on court,” Moniwa says, looking very concerned about the idea that they’re underappreciating him.

“Sure, sure,” Kamasaki says. “He’s alright.”

There’s a pause. Then Moniwa looks at them, with an expression that Sasaya thinks at first is aghast. “Why are we being so calm! They’re at nationals! We should be celebrating!” A pause, for emphasis, or just so Moniwa can resolve his face into a look of real, fierce determination. He never looked quite so sure as captain. “Our iron wall has risen again.”

“Hell yeah!” Kamasaki says.

Moniwa had said something quite similar last night, before getting solidly tipsy in their hotel room on a couple of beers, so Sasaya isn’t sure why he thinks they haven’t been celebrating. Maybe he got drunker than Sasaya realised, and forgot.

Still. Sasaya is also proud, and he offers a “Hooray”.

“I can’t believe they’ve done so well,” Moniwa says, and— oh no, he’s ended up weepy after all. He sniffles a couple of times. “They really did amazingly to get here.”

“And now it’s two-one to us against Karasuno,” Kamasaki says, not for the first time. Even before the qualifier finals had happened, he’d let everyone know that, if Datekou won, that would be the situation. He’d said it in a very ‘avenge us’ tone, too. Sasaya suddenly wonders if maybe they are putting too much pressure on the team.

“They’ll do amazing today, too,” Moniwa continues, a little dreamily.

“They better!”

“Let’s hope the train hurries up, or we’ll never know,” Sasaya says. The other two turn to look at him, Kamasaki frowning, Moniwa somehow turning completely frazzled in an instant, like he’s been electrocuted. They're so obviously invested that it would be funny if Sasaya wasn't too.

Last week, they’d tried to make custom t-shirts (they’d probably have gone for ‘Iron Wall of Date’, although Sasaya had liked ‘Wall Or Nothing’ better), but couldn’t find a printer able to do it at such short notice. Looking at the other two now, Sasaya wonders why they thought they’d need t-shirts, when it’s so obvious that they care. “It’ll be fine,” he carries on. “Train’s here.”


	5. 10:15

“Well, this sucks,” says Futakuchi, as the team make their way onto the court.

Sakunami doesn’t react; he’s too used to Futakuchi, and too busy trying very hard to be professional and calm. He picks one of the balls out of the cart and stares meaningfully at it, like it holds all the secrets of the universe and it's beaming them into his brain. It's not, obviously, but the really good players always seem to do this, so Sakunami’s giving it a go.

Behind him, Koganegawa reliably indulges Futakuchi’s obvious need for attention anyway.

“Don’t say that, Futakuchi-san! Do you think we’ll lose? We’ve got this far, haven’t we? Just because this is Nationals and everyone’s really good doesn’t mean we’ll definitely do badly! And anyway, if you ever feel worried—“ He puts a hand on Futakuchi’s shoulder, which is immediately jerked off. “I’m here, so we’ll be okay.”

Futakuchi  _ tch _ es, as though he wasn’t deliberately provoking a response. “I meant it sucks we don’t have supporters.”

Onagawa, with an incredible lack of effort, mumbles “Let’s go, let’s go.”

Feeling he has spent long enough making googly-eyes at the ball, Sakunami tosses it back with the rest and makes his way to the opposite side of the court, ready (or at least, in position) to receive the rest of the team’s warm-up spikes. 

He agrees with Futackuchi about the lack of cheering, for what it’s worth. Normally, there’s a tangible sense of excitement when Datekou arrive on court, their undeniable chant confirming that they are here, and a force to be reckoned with. Today, they have fewer supporters in a much bigger space, and everyone’s a force to be reckoned with anyway.

Including them. They're here anyway. Sakunami slides himself down into a perfect, perfected receive form.

When the warm-up ends, Sakunami ducks under the net and rejoins the rest of his team at the bench, while Futakuchi goes for the coin flip. When he comes back, they'll do a final team talk, and then line up. It's the same routine as always. Sakunami slips into the group besides Obara, who nudges him with his shoulder.

“How’re you feeling? Nervous?”

“No, actually,” replies Sakunami. His stomach isn’t as settled as it could be, perhaps, but he’s decided it’s excitement, rather than nerves. This is exciting. It is. “I’m okay.”

“Ah.” Obara’s voice suddenly sounds a lot hollower, and when Sakunami tilts his head up at him curiously, he looks sick. “It’s only me the pressure’s getting to, then.”

He’s going to serve first, Sakunami remembers. Obara, silently and unasked, has spent the last six months polishing a serve which is powerful but, more than that, precise. It’s annoying to receive, Sakunami can vouch for it. So now Obara’s up first, so Datekou can set the tone of the match with the serve and block which they’re trying hard to make their speciality. Considering that, it’s probably fair that Obara feels nervous, but Sakunami isn’t exactly going to point that out.

“Um,” he begins, helpfully. “I mean, this is definitely going to be intense, but we’ve practiced and prepared loads.”

Obara laughs, only a little half heartedly. “Sure, I guess we have.”

Before Sakunami can carry on with an amazing speech which is going to not only cure Obara of all his nerves, but inspire him to score twenty-five service aces and carry the team to victory, they’re interrupted. Which is good because Sakunami doesn’t have a speech like that, but bad because it’s Koganegawa who’s doing the interrupting, and he isn’t known for his sensitivity.

“Are you nervous, Obara-san?” he asks, like Obara’s body language isn’t very loudly broadcasting that fact. Still, maybe it was a good question: Obara squares his shoulders and stands up straight as he can. It actually does make him look convincingly together. After a moment, Sakunami realises he’s doing an impression of Aone.

“No,” Obara answers. “Everything is great.”

“It’s okay to be nervous!” Koganegawa presses on anyway. “I was okay earlier, but now I’m stressed! With all these people… watching…” He trails off, eyeing the stands nervously.

“There’s always people watching us,” Sakunami interjects, slightly too loudly. Isn’t this Futakuchi’s job? But he’s over with the referee, making sure they get to serve first. And even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be doing this.

“Yeah, true! I just wish I could be as calm as Jingo-san!”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure that he’s also—” Sakunami tries to correct, because even though Fukiage has the blankest resting face ever, there’d been a certain edge to him earlier that seemed nervous.

“Actually,” Fukiage says, leaning in, “I feel okay now.”

There’s a couple of seconds of silence, which Sakunami puts down to shock at Fukiage volunteering information. He’s chatty today. Maybe that’s nerves too. Maybe Sakunami doesn't actually feel okay either, and is acting really weird, and everyone can tell. But maybe that whole thought process was just nerves too. He breaths. He looks up. He looks in. He's n ot calm, exactly, but actually, he's not any worse than he is before any match, either. He's never totally fine. And yeah, today the stadium is huge, the ceiling high, the lights bright, the crowds massive. But Datekou have such a huge cheer squad that the crowd always feels scary, and even if the hall is bigger, the pitch is the same size.

Sakunami has a whole list of calming thoughts actually, which he's been using to back up his own okayness all day. They’ve already played more games as than they’ve managed any tournament before, so they've already built up plenty to be proud of. The fact their cheer squad is smaller than usual means there’s less people focused on them — and less people to let down. The team they’re about to play has been to nationals, but two years ago, so most of them will be as inexperienced as Datekou. Datekou isn’t inexperienced, and has played plenty of national level opponents before. Sakunami isn’t inexperienced, either: he’s been on the team for as long as Obara, even though he’s a year younger. Only Aone and Futakuchi have been playing longer than him. 

Sakunami remembers when he was new, and wanted to give his all for his senpai. And now he’s a senpai, he still wants to give his all for his team. Which means he that everyone else must do too. If they lose, it won’t be because they didn’t care or try, and although that’ll probably make it feel worse, it also makes it less likely. He thinks, anyway. He’s not planning to say it out loud. He feels like playing well — playing calmly — is the best argument of all, although that’s kind of a hard point to make to Obara, right now, waiting at the edge of the court. 

Futakuchi comes back from the coin toss. “We’re serving first!” he says, chirply. “I lost it, but it worked out, so whatever.”

Sakunami feels Obara slumps beside him. His posture is still Aone, but specifically Aone last halloween when he was dressed up as Frankenstein. The real Aone slaps Futakuchi on the back, bringing him painfully into the circle.

“Good job,” Coach Oiwake agrees. “Turning their plan back on them will be a great way to get the momentum behind us.”

“Hear that?” Futakuchi asks the team. “Coach has given us permission to destroy their spirits.”

Sakunami looks quickly at Oiwake, who normally tuts when Futakuchi says that kind of thing within his earshot. Today he just shrugs. “Try and stick to using volleyball, though. No comments.”

Futakuchi looks like he wants to make a comment then, but then he settles back: “Yes sir,” he says, and lets Oiwake recap the game plan without interruption.

When Oiwake’s done and the starters start to drift back towards court, though, Futakuchi sidles towards Sakunami. He’s focused, although on Futakuchi, the expression mostly comes across as cross. “We’ll grind them down with our defence. Doesn’t matter how good they are. If we just don’t let them score, it’ll ruin them.”

Sakunami nods, then processes what Futakuchi just said, and nods harder. He doesn’t want to ruin anyone, but still: he wants to win. As part of the team. Like Futakuchi just said,  _ we’ll  _ do it. 

At Datekou, there’s so much focus on blocking that Sakunami sometimes — rarely, but still — feels like a one man advocate for receiving. It gives him the same kind of odd-one-out feeling that he got more often last year, when he looked at the court and realised he was the only first year on it. That made him more nervous than games ever did. He hated looking around and not being quite sure that people were going to listen to him, or that he was going to know what they were talking about. But they did, and so did he, and now they’re here, and he feels comfortable around everyone. He feels like one of them. He is one of them. He feels comfortable on court now, and the shift from one type of a stadium to a bigger one is pretty insignificant in comparison.

Sakunami is starting on, subbed in for Fukiage. He makes sure to double back so they can high five. Once he’s in his starting position, Koganegawa springs into existence next to him. Koganegawa is also so different from how he used to be, on court at least. Sakunami barely has to baby him anymore. Instead, they stand side by side.

“We’ve got this!” Koganegawa says, and Sakunami nods. They should have.

A moment later, Obara serves a nastily sharp serve. They do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this chapter is secretly a sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4010053)


	6. 10:37

Screw everyone: they’ve made it! People didn’t think they could do it, they doubted them, but they’ve proven everyone wrong. Despite the doubters, Kamasaki, along with Moniwa and Sasaya, has actually managed to find the stadium. Kamasaki’s proud of them.

They’ll only have missed the first set, too, which is pretty good going, if you ask him. Better than that time early on in qualifiers when he and Moniwa turned up half an hour after Datekou were done for the day.

It’s a hot, humid morning, which means Kamasaki’s got his sleeves rolled all the way up, and the roof of the stadium looks as if it’s been carved out of the blue sky behind it. He laughs up at it as they approach, across the wide plaza out front.

Moniwa squeaks. “Are you mad?”

“I was grinning,” Kamasaki says, slightly offended.

“Oh.” Moniwa looks apologetic, and then he is apologetic. “Sorry. I thought you were baring your teeth.”

“Your face was fine, Kamasaki,” Sasaya interjects. “Moniwa’s just being anxious.”

“I’m not!” Moniwa protests, but he’s waving his hands in a way that Kamasaki (noted brave person) never would. His face is a funny colour too, although that might just be the remnants of the face paint they tried to put on him earlier. They’d bought grey, to represent a wall, but it turned out, just having a square of grey on your cheek looked a bit weird. Washing it off was why they were late. The first reason, at least. “I’m not even playing! Why would I be anxious!”

“Good question,” Sasaya replies.

Kamasaki isn’t worried about Moniwa being worried. He gets like this, until he doesn’t. It’ll be fine. Although, just in case…

“Don’t sweat it,” he says, and swings his elbow encouragingly into Moniwa’s side. Moniwa splutters.

By now, they’ve reached the entrance to the stadium. The doors are normal — boring — but the whole rest of the stadium is arranged around it, pointing the way in. Kamasaki cranes up at the mass of glass and metal, and whistles appreciatively. He respects metalwork as a discipline mostly because of all the blowtorches involved, and this must have taken a lot of fire. He’s never seen a venue this fancy before, let alone played there. It's a million miles away from the standard box of a gym that Dateou train in.

They head in. The foyer is crowded, but unimpressive. Kamasaki was half expecting solid silver water fountains, or all the ‘where to go’ signs to be in neon, but it just looks normal. He still bets the weights room (which he knows exists, because he looked up beforehand, instead of checking the train routes like he said he would) is incredibly classy, though.

“I think we go that way,” Moniwa says, pointing in the loudest direction. And there, he’s fine. He looks thoughtful, sure, but that’s normal for Moniwa. Now, if Kamasaki got all thinky,  _ that  _ would be a cause for concern.

“Lead on,” Sasaya says, and Moniwa does.

They reach the stands via a grey corridor and a bunch of stairs, and once they get to the top, the courts unroll and the ceiling punches up, and  _ this  _ is what Kamasaki was hoping for from the inside of a fancy big city sports stadium. He’s not the type to care about sunsets, but the way the ceiling arcs up above them, all tall and flashy, has him feeling something equivalently mushy.

“They did good,” he mumbles, so caught up in the spectacle that it takes him a second to look for  _ them  _ at all. There, two courts down, he sees green and white and a flash of yellow that has to be Koganegawa’s hair.

“Wooo! Go Datekou!” he yells. No one court seems to hear him, although a couple of kids glare at him. He grins back.

“What’s happening?” Moniwa is asking. “Are they winning? Can you see the score?”

“Everyone’s still on court,” Sasaya says. “So there haven’t been any injuries.”

“Why would there be injuries!”

The whole time, they’ve been moving forward, right up to the railings. They’re still a way away from the court, but Kamasaki leans out over them anyway, until Sasaya tugs on his shirt, and jerks his head in the direction of the cheer squad. Kamasaki nods, and follows, although it isn’t his best walking ever, what with having one eye on the game the whole time. Nah, screw that: he has both eyes on the match, and is totally relying on luck and instinct for the walking stuff.

While they head towards the team, Onagawa receives a hard spike, and sends a slightly messy pass back up. It doesn’t matter that it’s messy, though, ‘cos Kogane is there to grab it out of the sky and chuck it in Obara’s direction. Obara’s attack is nice — Kamasaki notes approvingly that it looks like he’s been working out — but the other team receives it. Blah blah, they do whatever with it; Kamasaki focuses on not tripping over gym bags and feet and cheerleaders while the ball is on the other side of the court.

He looks up again, pretty much on instinct, when the setter sends the ball up. He may not have been the best blocker in the world, he accepts that, but he still has all the instincts. He can smell the attack coming, and he knows what should be about to happen, even before Aone and Kogane shift down the net to where Obara’s already waiting, as the attacker comes into the left. The block is inevitable, but it’s still really cool.

It suits the building, Kamasaki thinks. They don’t look out of place down there. Huh.

“Hell yeah!” he yells, and only really realises how close they’ve actually got to the court when Futakuchi reacts, looking up and forgetting to even frown at him for a second. Kamasaki cheers again.

“They are winning!” Moniwa says. “Look! They’re two ahead now!”

Kamasaki doesn’t bother looking. The score doesn’t matter right now. The match does. Sakunami just did a beautiful save, and Kamasaki feels a real swell of pride. “Nice one!”

Beside him, Sasaya greets a second year — third year now, Kamasaki remembers — in the cheer squad, dumping his bag. “Made it,” Sasaua affirms, but Kamasaki isn’t really sure who he’s talking about.


	7. 12:30

Obara finally catches up with Onagawa in a quiet side corridor. When he does, Onagawa just points. He doesn’t actually need to comment; there’s a sort of excitement broadcasting off him, at too high a frequency to be audible, but strong enough that Obara can sense it.

Ahead of them, on the corner where the corridor means a busier area, is a woman with a microphone, talking casually to a couple of guys with film cameras and ignoring a whole gaggle of curious people around them. Some of the onlookers seem to be trying to get into the shot, even though they’re clearly not filming right now. And, apart from all of that, is Futakuchi, who’s waiting stiffly for his interview to begin.

“Hah,” Onagawa breaths, and begins to move idly towards the group. Normally, he’s a fairly clumpy walker, but this situation has transformed him. He moves forwards with the nonchalant grace of a leopard stalking his prey. “They’re going to regret this.”

“Seems like he’s going to regret this too,” Obara suggests dryly, because Onagawa loves to find opportunities to get Futakuchi back for the whole ‘Pantalons’ thing, almost as much as he hates being called 'Pantalons'.

He grins. “I hope so.”

“This,” says Nametsu, from behind them, “is exactly why I didn’t tell you about this happening.”

After Nametsu had refused to tell them where Futakuchi had disappeared off too, looking all shifty and stressed, Onagawa had got it out of Aone and instantly disappeared. Obara had followed, partly because he wanted to see it, and partly because Nametsu looked worried and he’d felt bad. Nametsu, who has now who has apparently managed to track them down again. And who still does not look happy. Aone's behind her, and something about the way they're standing kind of reminds Obara of a villain and her henchman.

“No way,” Onagawa — a braver person than Obara will ever be — says. “You just wanted to keep this to yourself.”

“No I didn’t!” Nametsu protests. “Futakuchi just didn’t want me to tell you!”

For a while, they’ve been close enough to the TV crew that Futakuchi must have been able to hear them, but this is the first time he reacts, sending Nametsu a look of pure hatred, before going back to looking stiffly ahead, whilst the TV people start to fuss with their equipment around him.

“Oh, he’s nervous,” Onagawa says, delighted. He’s more excited about this than he was about the game earlier; Futakuchi had actually told him to get more fired up then.

“It’s because he understands how important it is to represent the school well,” Nametsu chastises him. She sounds almost like she actually believes that's true, or is just a better actor than Obara has ever realised. Either way, he's not convinved. “He’s going to be on the news! It's important.”

“Last week, I saw a news story about a bear who’d got stuck in a fence,” Onagawa replies. “So he’ll be in really suitable company.”

Obara hides his laugh in his sleeve, but Nametsu isn’t that quick, and splutters. Aone looks dolefully at them.

“They’re starting,” he says.

And they are: the reporter with the mic pulls her sleeves down and flicks her ponytail behind her. There’s a definite switch between off and on, just like you see players do sometimes. One moment they’re joking around, the next they’re deadly serious. Obara isn’t like that: he needs time to warm up. Futakuchi looks like he could do with a couple more minutes right now.

Still, the reporter smiles encouragingly at him, which is undeservedly nice of her, before turning and counting down to the camera. When she gets to one, she turns back to Futakuchi. “How are you feeling after winning your first match at Nationals?” she jumps right in.

“Cool,” Futakuchi replies, and then stops. He glances at the four of them, where they’re waiting and watching. Onagawa’s eyes are glittering. Nametsu makes a frantic ‘carry on’ gesture. Obara bets Futakuchi doesn’t see one of those very often.

“Is this live?” Obara whispers to her.

“No, thankfully,” Nametsu says, and then glances at the ceiling. “I can’t believe Moniwa-san is actually here, and we still can’t get him to do this instead.”

Futakuchi is talking again, at least. In an ‘okay,  _ fine _ ’ tone, presumably a response to Nametsu, he continues. “It’s great to be able to keep playing. The team has worked really hard and,” he says, with great reluctance, through gritted teeth, “I’m proud they'll get to play at least another day. They deserve it.”

“Aw!” says Nametsu, although Onagawa snorts. Futakuchi glares at both of them this time. Aone nods at him though, and Futakuchi seems to take something from that — he always seems to manage to, with Aone — and looks back at the reporter again. He looks a bit more insolent, which is to say, normal.

To be fair, Obara isn’t sure how he’d answer the question. Since the match ended and the victorious adrenaline faded like a blush, he’s barely thought about it. But maybe he should. They didn’t lose, after all.

In fact, more than that — they won. Obara had spent the morning before the match started trying not to think about it too much. The past few weeks, really. And he’s failed, abysmally, but he’s at least managed to only freak out over tiny little bits of it in advance. His first serve, or spike, or receiving funny shots. He hasn’t really let himself think about the implications (the idea of the second round of Interhigh, the concept of more than two nights in the hostel, the confirmation that they deserve to be here, that they are a national level team, that they are that good) since, maybe, the night after they beat Karasuno. Since then, he’s ignored all that stuff. Got into the habit of ignoring it. Just in case it didn't happen, so he wouldn't have as much to lose, if they lost. But they didn't, and now Obara can care! Should care! Because now they’ve won one match, they can win the next one! It’s all as possible as them being here in the first place, anyway.

Right on cue, the reporter asks “You’re from Miyagi, which has had a lot of great up-and-coming players recently. How does it feel to play against such great teams?”

Futakuchi hesitates before replying, during which time Nametsu hisses gleefully, “Annoying. You just know that’s what he’s thinking.”

“Everyone watching knows,” Obara says, because Futakuchi’s face automatically took on an expression of utter distaste, and he’s still not really bothering to hide at all.

“Say it,” Onagawa whispers. “Go on. Reveal your horrible self on TV— Ow!”

Aone had bumped him lightly on the head.

“It’s always a challenge,” Futakuchi says to the camera. “But it’s prepared us well for our opponents here. I guess.”

“Oh!” Nametsu says, clapping her hands to her cheeks. “Futakuchi learnt tact!”

“And it was fun, too?” the reporter prompts. “You played Ushijima Wakatoshi a couple of years ago, and he’s just started on the National Team. That must have been exciting.”

“If you define it really weirdly, sure. If you use it as a synonym for, like, annoying.” Then Futakuchi remembers he’s not a first year anymore, like he was during that match, but a final year, and captain, and someone with responsibilities that include being polite occasionally. “But, uh, good luck, Ushijima. If you’re watching. Thanks for the anecdote.”

Aone, the only other one of them who’s actually played against Ushijima, nods in agreement at the luck thing, which is kind of nice, Obara thinks. He bets Nametsu is wishing Aone spoke, right about now. Although she also seems to have given up on this interview being any good at all: she and Onagawa had started giggling together when Futakuchi had said 'annoying'.

The reporter, a credit to her profession, but she presses on. “Must be pretty inspiring, right? To know someone you played against is doing so well. Do you want to go pro too?”

“Not if it means I have to play against Ushijima Wakatoshi,” Futakuchi says, then coughs, like he’s trying to cover up what he just said. He looks at Nametsu then, as if to see whether he’s successfully disguised it. He obviously hasn’t, but Nametsu shrugs: it’s probably a reasonable opinion.

“It’s almost sweet,” Onagawa says. “You can see his team loyalty battling against his whole awful personality.”

“We should feel honoured there’s even a fight,” Obara adds.

Futakuchi has carried on: “I mean, I play volleyball for fun. Or I try to. But I don’t have any grand ambitions. Even our setter is more likely to go pro than me.” He sniggers. The reporter laughs too, much more politely.

“If Kogane went pro,” Onagawa says, “The leagues wouldn’t know what hit them. Literally.” They still haven’t managed to totally stop him jumping sideways a lot of the time, which means he knocks into people a lot too. Obara’s sure he has a bruise forming from an incident in the match earlier, because his side tightens painfully when he chuckles at Onagawa’s lame joke.

“He’ll improve,” Aone says.

Obara looks between them. Both of them are normally quiet enough that this is the closest to a conversation he thinks he’s ever heard them have. “Why are you both so chatty right now? It’s Futakuchi’s interview.”

They both look back, silent and expressionless.

The interviewer has paused for a few seconds, to gather her thoughts, or to encourage Futakuchi to gather his. He’s resumed staring into space, probably so he can ignore Nametsu, who’s stage-whispering “Be positive,” at him.

“So,” she restarts. “How are you feeling about tomorrow? Do you have any words for your opponents?”

While Futakuchi answers the first question (something about being well-prepared, and hoping for another win; Obara feels like Coach Oiwake might have had exactly enough time to drill him on an appropriate answer to this question, and this question only), they try and guess what he’ll say to the second.

“Die,” Onagawa suggests.

“Suck it, losers,” Nametsu suggests, doing a surprisingly good impression of Futakuchi.

Obara guesses “Why don’t you just give up now. It would be easier for everyone,” and even Aone is cajoled into suggesting “Good game.”

“Good game,” says Futakuchi, a beat later, with a very deliberate glance sideways, towards them.

“Okay, that’s not fair,” Nametsu says. “He just went for Aone’s suggestion because he’s his favourite.”

“Did you really want him to say ‘suck it’ on camera?” Obara asks, and she reluctantly concedes no. Very reluctantly, though.

“I’m sure the audience will be hoping for a good game too!” The reporter looks back on firmer ground, now that she’s got a completely normal response. Maybe that was why Aone said what he did, to get Futakuchi to answer the whole thing properly. That’s smart. Obara gives him an admiring look, although Nametsu’s right: it would have been funnier if Futakuchi had actually threatened tomorrow’s opponents.

“Maybe the audience should play, then,” Futakuchi replies dismissively, his propriety clearly all used up. “Then they can make a good game happen, if they want it so much.”

“Okay!” The reporter quickly interrupts him. “It would be great for people to be inspired to pick up volleyball as a result of this week’s tournament, I have to agree! Folks at home, get in contact with your local clubs for more information on how to start playing!”

“Oh, he didn’t like that,” Onagawa says, as Futakuchi’s nose wrinkles.

“She definitely won that round,” Obara agrees.

“This is the final question!” The reporter continues. You can’t tell from her manner, but Obara is sure she’s reassuring herself that they’re almost done as much as informing Futakuchi. He’s gets it; he’s been there too. “What’s your goal for this tournament?” she asks.

“To win it,” Futakuchi says. There’s a silent, but strongly implied ‘duh’ at the end.

“Woo!” Nametsu quietly cheers, with a little fist bump too.

“Are you worried that’s a bit ambitious?” the reporter asks. “What with it being your first time at nationals?”

“Why does that stuff matter?” Futakuchi says, suddenly grim-faced. You could almost hear the snap, as the question pushed him fully into pissed off. He’ll get like this occasionally, almost exclusively when anyone suggests the team is anything less than serious. (Anyone other than one of them, at least.) The reaction probably began with his laughing pettiness towards their opponents. Only, that pettiness fused funnily with the whole captain thing, and mutated, and now it occasionally flares up as crossness. “If we’re good enough to be here, we’re good enough to be contenders for the whole thing. Or did you want me to give you the number of the round we’re planning to passively dip at? 'Cos in that case, let’s say our goal is to do better than Karasuno. So semi-finals, right? But at that point,” he shrugs, clearly winding down, “we may as well go all the way to the end.”

“Uh,” The reporter is clearly fishing for something in all that which she can dress up and make presentable. “Karasuno were Miyagi’s representatives last year, right?”

“Yep. We beat them to get here today. And Shiratorizawa too — that’s Ushiwaka’s old team. Hey,” Futakuchi grins, which is normally an alarm bell, but actually, feels like kind of a relief now. “I guess that’s one thing that’s fun about playing good teams. It’s really satisfying to beat them.”

“Right, then! Thank you so much for your time, and good luck with the next couple of days,” the reporter replies.

“Hopefully we’ll get to beat way more people,” Futakuchi says.

After he’s been detangled from the TV crew — they make him sign a form, and unthread a microphone wire from his jacket, which means the reporter’s must be fake, or pointless, or something — Futakuchi stomps towards them.

“You almost managed it,” Nametsu says despairingly. “I really thought you were going to get through that without ruining her life. Or mine. Coach is going to be so mad.”

“They’re only going to use thirty seconds of it,” Futakuchi says dismissively. “They can just cut the bits they don’t like. Anyway, you deserve to suffer, I can’t believe you let them know.” He jerks his head towards Obara.

“I can’t believe you’re proud of us,” Onagawa says, smugly. “That’s so  _ nice  _ of you Futakuchi.”

“That wasn’t what I said. And I was only talking about Sakunami, anyway. The rest of you all suck.”

“Sure,” says Obara. “We suck so much we’re going to win nationals.”

“Okay, you have to agree with that answer,” Futakuchi says. “Doing better than Karasuno would be sick.”

Obara hasn’t really thought about it, actually. This morning’s match had sat like a big boulder in the way of any grander thoughts. Not even the whole match, actually, just the first serve. Appropriately, after the ball made it over the net, but not back, in the very first minute of the match, the rest of it passed in a blur. He’s sure he made decisions and made choices and had thoughts, but looking back, he can only remember his body moving as if possessed by the ghosts of a thousand previous plays. But he’s not got any practice at being at nationals, so maybe he should think about what they’re going to do, now they’re here, and past the first threshold too. He can't rely on instinct to decide how they're going to do.

“It’d be cool to win it all,” he concedes.

“Weren’t you planning to anyway?” Nametsu asks, crossing her arms. “I’m expecting you too.”

“Hey, hey,” Futakuchi says, tutting. “Don’t try and act like it’s just on us. You’re part of this too.” He shoves her head, light and fond. She pushes his hand away, but she’s laughing. “Let’s win tomorrow, then,” Futakuchi carries on, looking up at Aone and Onagawa, before lunging forward and throwing an arm around Onagawa’s neck. Onagawa tries to push it off, only Futakuchi is deceptively strong, and just tightens his grip. “And then I can give even more interviews.”

“Do you really think they’ll have you back?” Obara asks, sceptically.

“Why wouldn’t they? I’m wonderful.” Futakuchi replies. He tries to look casual, but in doing so, leans more on Onagawa, who groans, and then jabs Futakuchi in the side. Futakuchi lets go, looking offended.

“Aone,” Obara says quickly, before either of them can round on each other. Aone inserts himself between them, so they can’t carry anythig on.

Futakuchi just shrugs. “They’ll have to talk to me if I’m the captain of the best team in the country. And play my whole interview too. Maybe that would be fun. I can shout you all out.” He smirks at them threateningly.

“Okay,” Nametsu says. “New plan. We gracefully lose tomorrow and no one else has to be exposed to Futakuchi. It’ll be sad, but better for the world. And my stress levels.”

Obara tries to say “Deal,” as a joke, but Aone speaks over him.

“Let’s just play our best,” he says. “And see how far that takes us.”

Which is maybe the truest point anyone has made so far. Obara doesn’t need to underthink, or overthink anything. They can just take on each game as it comes, and then, if he pays attention and tries his hardest, he can be proud too. He resolves to remember tomorrow’s match better than today’s, win or lose. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Maybe we shouldn’t let Futakuchi’s media appearances affect our decisions.”

“Sounds good to me,” Futakuchi says.

“It was funny, though,” Onagawa says, from the other side of Aone. "He was so awkward." Futakuchi peers round Aone and sticks his tongue out.

“What time is it on, Nametsu?" Obara asks. "Can we record it?”

“I think so! Ooh, we could edit it,” Nametsu says. “Rearrange all the words so it looks like Futakuchi is saying stupid stuff.”

“More stupid than what he said already?” Onagawa asks, as they start walking back towards the stands, where the rest of the team have settled.

Obara hangs back, and falls into step with Aone and Futakuchi. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “I thought you did pretty good. For a couple of questions, at least. You were actually kind of inspiring.”

Futakuchi groans; pulls his hand down his face. “This was exactly why I didn’t want you guys to know. That’s so embarrassing. I hate helping people.”

“Tough,” says Obara, and laughs as Futakuchi turns red.


	8. 13:37

They have lunch in the stands, so they can watch some more of the day’s matches, which is almost as exciting as— well, everything else about the day! Koganegawa has never been allowed to eat whilst watching TV, because it’s bad manners, but if it’s even half as fun as this, he knows he’s been missing out.

Beside him, Sakunami is doing some English homework while they wait for the next match to begin on the court in front of them. On his other side, Aone is talking to Moniwa, and a couple of first years. Well, the conversation is mostly Moniwa and the first years, but Aone is listening. Koganegawa only worked out what Aone’s listening face looks like recently, but now he can always tell if Aone’s paying attention. He’d recognise it anywhere — it’s the expression Aone always wears whenever anyone is talking to him.

The whole thing reminds Koganegawa a bit of that time he went to see his little cousins, and his grandparents were unexpectedly there too, in his aunt’s house. And it had been funny, because none of them really had anything in common — afterall, his littlest cousins are babies and his grandparents are really old, and Koganagawa is actually a normal age — but they still all got on. And this is a bit like that. Hey, if the team is kind of like his family, does that mean they're kind of a family in their own right too? Moniwa kind of does have nice, grandfatherly vibes, but then, would that make Futakuchi Koganegawa’s dad? He isn’t sure he likes that.

Then Koganegawa feels bad and instantly looks round to find Futakuchi, just in case he psychically picked up on Koganegawa’s thoughts. Futakuchi is a couple of rows behind, looking happy as he chats away with Kamasaki, which is a relief! Although Kamasaki looks a bit mad. He’d be a tough kind of uncle.

They’ve deliberately sat so that they can see Inarizaki, who are playing next on the court right in front of them. Koganegawa hadn’t remembered who they were, but Sakunami had told him they’re really good, and are favourites for the top 8. They would be favourites to win, except Karasuno beat them last year. Karasuno is so good! Except then, Datekou beat Karasuno this year! So maybe they should be favourites to win, now...

Sakunami had also said that it’s important to watch these matches, not to learn from them, but because they might be playing those teams soon. Only, he’d said it last night, right after they’d arrived, when Koganegawa’s skin had felt all electric and itchy with nerves, and even though even though Sakunami is the most trustworthy person Koganegawa knows, he hadn’t really believed him. Not about playing these teams, at least.  Koganegawa knows it’s important to watch matches! And not just for fun! That’s one of tons of things he’s learnt in the last year. Loads of them from Sakunami. Sakunami is younger than Koganegawa, but when it comes to volleyball, he really is wise. Maybe he can be Kogangawa's fake dad, instead of Futakuchi.

The team, Inarizaki, already has their cheer squad set up opposite. Between the students and adults and cheerleaders (!!), there are lots of big, bulbous cases, that must be for instruments, but don’t match any Koganegawa can think of. What could be in them? A gigantic saxophone? A tuba with a million loops like a silly straw? He isn’t sure: he doesn’t know much about music, actually.

“Do you think their cheering section is better than ours?” Koganegawa asks.

Sakunami glances up, takes in the mass of people opposite, gulps, and then looks back at his work. “Yeah.”

“Oh. Could we get a band?”

“I think there’s an orchestra club at school,” Sakunami says, tracing a phrase in his notebook with his finger, and not looking up. “You could always ask when we get back.”

“Yeah, okay! Hey, what’s that phrase mean?”

“That it’s raining heavily, I think.”

“Really?” Koganegawa tilts his head to the side, considering the words he’s looking at. “What’s that got to do with volleyball.”

“Nothing.”

“Then why’s it their motto?”

“Who’s motto?— Oh! I thought you were talking about my homework.”

“Nope!” Koganegawa confirms, and then reads the banner opposite aloud. “‘We don’t need things like memories’. That’s a weird thing to say. You guys always tell me off when I forget to do something.”

“Banners are always funny,” Sakunami says with a shrug. He looks down the gym: the stands are awash with them. “Like ‘habit is second nature’, or ‘repetition forges skill’. They’re often really vague.”

“Don’t those mean the same thing?” Koganegawa asks.

Sakunami considers this. “No?” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“Well, at least those two are kind of about volleyball. I definitely get better, the more I do things. Like with receiving.” Receiving has just recently clicked into place for Koganegawa. It took a lot of — hey, there’s another relevant banner, a bit further down — effort, but it paid off, and now he’s pretty good at it. Not Sakunami-good, obviously, but definitely Koganegawa-good, at least. He wouldn’t want to forget how to do that. “But I don’t get the memory one.”

Moniwa who’s sitting behind Aone, leans forward then. “I think it means you shouldn’t let the past change how you’re playing now. Like, how you guys didn’t get nervous when you played Aoba Johsai during qualifiers, even though they beat you last time. And because you put the past behind you, you played better, and you beat them, this time.” He finishes, but neither Koganegawa or Sakunami respond immediately; Koganegawa has got temporarily distracted thinking about how fun it was to help Futakuchi block the blond guy with the stripes in that match. Unfortunately, he silence stresses Moniwa out: “I think, at least! I mean, I’m not sure! It is pretty vague! But that's a nice sentiment. I like it, anyway.”

“But if you don’t remember each match, how can you learn from them?”

“Maybe they’re too good to need to learn anymore,” Sasaya says.

“Is that true?” Koganegawa asks, sitting up straighter and twisting round. “You can get that good? Can I get that good?”

Sasaya shrugs. He’s sat next to Moniwa, but Koganegawa had thought he was asleep this whole time. Which he gets. Today was tiring! Not that Koganegawa is tired, but that’s probably just excitement. He still feels like he’s on court, sort of. He's so happy he gets to do this again tomorrow.

“There’s always something you can improve, no matter how good you are” Moniwa says. He wasn’t Koganegawa’s captain for very long, but he also always will be, in Koganegawa’s mind, and it’s exactly because of moments like this: he just sounds so smart! Futakuchi’s also smart, but mostly he uses that fact to point out how dumb you are, so Koganegawa doesn’t enjoy it so much.

“Their banner's very fancy, then,” Sakunami says thoughtfully, regarding the black fabric, the white letters. His expression is also thoughtful. “It's like poetry.”

“It makes our banner sound pretty lame,” Sasaya says, and then yawns. The yawn is probably coincidental, but it really emphasises his point.

“‘Iron Wall of Date’,” Sakunami says consideringly, like the words are gumballs he’s rolling around his mouth. “It’s not very inspiring, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” Koganegawa asks. He likes their banner. There’s no weird confusing secret meanings: it just them and what they’re good at.

“Well, it’s not very philosophical. You can’t really apply it to different situations.” Sakunami pauses. You can tell it’s a pause, not an end, from the way he breathes in. It means he’s gathering his thoughts, and he’s about to say something really useful. Koganegawa likes it when Sakunami pauses. “They’re not really words to live by.”

“Yeah, they are!” Koganegawa protests immediately. Just because Sakunami says useful things doesn’t mean they’re always right. “I don’t always want to repeat things, or put in all my effort at every single practice, but that's okay, 'cos I’m still part of the iron wall! You can’t throw me off the team, just because I remember stuff.” He narrows his eyes at Inarizaki’s banner.

“But you’ll graduate,” Sakunami says. “And then you won’t be on the team. But you'll still find it useful to form good habits, and that kind of thi—”

“The senpai have graduated,” Koganegawa points out, “And they’re still part of the wall.”

Behind them, Moniwa and Sasaya breath sharply and in unison. One of them sniffles.

“Okay,” Sakunami concedes. He probably doesn’t want to protest in the face of a teary— oh. Koganegawa was kind of expecting Moniwa to be the one getting emotional, but it’s Sasaya who’s wiping his eyes. “I just meant that the phrase has a shorter shelf life than some of the less specific one.”

“But it works so well now that the future doesn't matter!” Koganegawa says. “It’s always applicable to us now. It can’t apply to anyone else. It’s ours.”

“Yeah, no one’s going to get confused about who we are,” Sakunami agrees, but Koganegawa has one final, amazing argument to make, so he ignores the fact that everyone’s already in agreement. Even Aone has turned his listening face to them, and Koganegawa doesn’t want to let his audience down.

“And,” Koganegawa presses on, “If we were to join another team called Date, it would still be relevant. So the shelf life would be pretty long, then! Like dried fruit!”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a VC Date in Sendai,” Moniwa says thoughtfully. “Maybe you could join them, Koganegawa.”

“Maybe!” Koganegawa agrees. “It would be cool if the iron wall could rise again! Although,” he turns round, back to court, where teams they may or may not get to beat are assembled. “We’ve got to earn the name here first. And maybe if it goes well I’ll go pro instead!” He fidgets in his seat. “I’m so excited for tomorrow.”


End file.
